


Stellarum Nocte

by 8bitcyborg



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Descent into Madness, M/M, Mild Blood, Rituals, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bitcyborg/pseuds/8bitcyborg
Summary: «His name is Aaravos. He is the night sky, a splash of stars on vivid amethyst. He is the ominous whispers in the dark, the ghost in your periphery, the alluring pull of magic just outside your grasp. Do not fall prey to his temptations. He will cage your heart, steal your spirit, and devour your soul.»





	Stellarum Nocte

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, dadd- I mean Viren! :D
> 
> This follows canon closely, but with liberties taken (of course, haha!)
> 
> Enjoy!

The mirror in itself isn’t anything special. It’s a cherry wood frame, with basic magic runes carved into it. Even the design is nothing grand or worth looking twice at. But there’s power lurking behind the polished glass, of this Viren is sure. He trails his fingers gently over the runes in the frame, each rune emitting a low hum as he passes over it. Magic flickers for a scant second before it extinguishes again. The glass stays dark, and that is currently what is most fascinating about the Dragon King’s most prized possession. Viren can see his own reflection in the mirror, but everything else is pitch black. There’s no doubt there’s powerful magic at work within. If only he could solve what mechanisms is hindering him from harnessing said power!  
He’s still got time. The fallen king is to be grieved for seven days before a new regent can take the throne, and though he initially protested—insisting it best to go through with a coronation immediately due to unstable times—there is indeed advantages to waiting out the mourning period. Namely for the sake of solving the elusive mirror’s mysteries.  
He’s been watching the mirror daily for a period of two weeks now, all while poring over ancient texts and history books, to no avail. He’s tried chanting to it, he’s tried a variety of spells—he’s even got his bright Claudia set on the task of cracking the thing open. So far she’s not come up with anything to further their cause. He dumps down in his chair, massaging his temples and sighing dramatically.

“What is your secret?” he whispers angrily. “Why won’t you reveal your mysteries to me?”

The mirror stays dark, and Viren grits his teeth together in annoyance. He rises and stalks off to the roof, intended on getting some much needed fresh air. There’s lightning on the horizon, said air thick with electricity and the smell of oncoming rain. The light drizzle feels nice against his overheated skin, a metaphorical cleanse of the mind and soul. He was going to crack that damned mirror.  
When the first nips of harsh wind rustles in his robes he turns and heads back into the basement, now soaked from top till toe. He snaps his fingers to light the fireplace and settles into his chair once again, brushing his wet hair from his eyes. The comfort of the fireplace slowly drying his clothes makes him drowsy after a few minutes, and even though he really shouldn’t sleep now, he can’t resist the pull on his eyelids.  
He’s not sure of how long he has been dozing off when he wakes again with a startle. The fire has been reduced to faint coals, but in the soft glow it almost looks like the runes on the mirror is glowing too..? He gasps in surprise as the darkness of the mirror trickles away—like a black sludge—revealing a reflection that is most certainly not his basement. He leans forwards, scrutinizing the surroundings inside the mirror. It looks like a magician’s study, a solid supply of books, scrolls and magical items litter the shelves and tables there. A fire crackles to life and in the left corner Viren notices a door opening.  
A robed person appears and strides over the floor, standing in silent contemplation before the bookshelves before they pick a book tuck it under their arm then turning to walk back through the door.

“Wait!” Viren exclaims, shooting up from his chair, arm extended towards the mirror. The person stops, head tilted in Viren’s direction as if they heard him shout. For a few seconds the world stops, Viren’s shallow breathing the only sound between them.

“Who are you?” Viren asks finally, annoyance speckling his voice at still not being able to see what they look like. He doesn’t get any response, the hooded figure shrugging and exiting through the door from whence they came, the scenery yet again fading back into the reflection of the cold basement.

Claudia brings him dinner later that evening, all while glaring accusingly at the accursed mirror.

“Please dad, let me go dig up a Mandrake. I am sure that I can—”

“Claudia, thank you for bringing me dinner. Now I’d like to continue with my work. It has become personal.”

Claudia pouts but relents, kissing his cheek and bidding him goodnight before she retreats to her chambers.

It’s late next morning when Viren sees the hooded person again. Irritation is prickling at the edges of his mind having stayed up most of the night to watch the mirror with no results. This time the person is carrying an ornamental box in their arms. Viren does a double take when they turn and head straight towards him, stopping just in front of what would be the other side of the mirror. They place the box on the surface in front of them and open it up to reveal several interesting items. A goblet, a cloth, a rock, a bowl, a dagger, mortar and pestle, and some thread. Viren raises an eyebrow in question. This was obviously meant for a ritual of some kind.  
The person on the other side of the mirror then pulls down the hood of their robes, finally revealing themselves to Viren.

“You’re an elf.” he says with perfect distaste. The corners of said elf’s mouth quirks up into a smirk and they tap their long ear and shakes their head.

“So you can’t hear me.” Viren confirms for himself.

Of course it had to be a elf, of all things. But this one—it’s different. Different than the other purple menaces he’s previously faced. The curved horns and the white hair is same, but this one, has skin the colour of dark amethyst, splashes of stars littered across it’s cheeks in a striking contrast, and eyes glowing with an amber hue. Viren thinks the elf is beautiful, and recoils from the thought straight after. Imagine finding an elf beautiful! He almost spits at the floor in reflex from his own thoughts, angry at the small tug in his stomach and the slight heart palpitations he’s feeling. Lack of sleep, no breakfast yet, it’s reasonable explanations.  
The elf’s smile never fades and that doesn’t make Viren any less uneasy. It is as if they know what Viren is feeling and thinking. They sweep an elegant hand over the items laid out on the surface, cocking their head to the side in question.

“You want me to find these items?” he queries, sweeping his hand in the same motion. The elf nods sagely, although Viren is sure there is nothing sagely about them.

“Fine.” Viren can hear himself say, biting his tongue at his own pliancy immediately after. The elf seems pleased, offering him a curt nod before they retreat to their bookshelf, occupying themselves with a heavy, black tome. It doesn’t take long gathering the afforemented items. Any mage with respect for themselves would have all of this in their possession already. The elf picks up the cloth and the thread, and starts elegantly stitching a rune upon it. They show it to Viren, whom in turn stitches the very same rune onto his cloth.

“I’ve never seen this rune before.” he murmurs quietly. An unknown rune is indeed an exciting prospect to someone who practices dark magic. Next the elf levitates the cloth in the air, weaving the stitched symbol in the ether as dark energies gathers around them. They cover the rock with the cloth and taps it with the pestle, cracking it in two like an egg. Viren mimics them, surprised to see the common rock he brought cleaving in half and revealing lavender-coloured crystals within. The elf grinds up the crystals into a fine dust, pouring it into the goblet which hisses and spits as a purple liquid forms. The exact same thing happens on Viren’s side of the mirror and he scowls when the elf brings the goblet up in a toast.

“You expect me to _drink_ this?” he asks indignantly. “Surely you jest!” The elf appears to be laughing softly, keeping the goblet raised til Viren reluctantly does the same, then swallows it all in one gulp. Viren is hesitant, but it is as if his hand moves on it’s own accord and puts the goblet to his lips. The liquid doesn’t taste of anything yet everything at the same time. It’s a burst of energy, a crackle on his tongue before fading completely. The elf is pleased with him and he swears the feeling of pride from following through with his task is nothing but a wicked illusion. He halts however, as the elf brings the dagger to their open palm and waits for him to do the same. Again his hands appear to move on their own and he is about to slice his own palm open before something in his mind clicks and he throws the knife to the floor. If the elf is disappointed they don’t show it, only watching Viren with a smug expression on their face.

“What am I doing?” Viren says to no one in particular, rubbing his face tiredly. This was insane. He’s not about to let some _elf_ lead him through some mystical ritual with unknown consequences now is he? He glances at the mirror, the elf is watching him like tranquility itself.

“Wicked creature…” Viren whispers, inching close to the mirror, touching the surface with his splayed out hand. The elf mirrors his movement and puts his hand parallel to Viren’s. For a fraction of a second Viren swears he can _feel_ the skin of the elf touch his palm, and he recoils in horror.

“No.” he says sharply, throwing the blanket he’s previously used to cover the mirror with back over it. “I have to think—this is not—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, turning on his heels and marching out of the basement. The farther away he gets, the clearer his mind feels, and he lets out a breath of relief as he slams the doors to the outside courtyard open, inhaling some much needed fresh air. It’s right after midnight, which feels odd. Surely that much time couldn’t have passed down in the basement? He shakes his head, he’s probably just tired. They’re experiencing stressful times, his tampering with the mirror takes a lot of energy, it’s all logical. There’s a shadow moving in his periphery and he goes into battle stance immediately, already weaving a rune with his free hand. Nothing but cold night air meets his eye when he’s fully turned and he narrows his eyes. Who’s playing tricks on him? Claudia? No, she would never. Soren is without a doubt already fast asleep. No one else dares cross him in any way. He sighs, a full nights sleep would probably do him good.

Someone is calling his name—no—whispering his name, close to his ear. A voice dark like treacle, low and sensual, asking for blood. His blood. He sits up in his bed abruptly, hand already grabbing for his staff. His chest heaves as his eyes flies open, expecting to find the perpetrator close. There is nothing, or no one in his room. The old, beautifully carved clock on his wall tells him it’s already afternoon and he grits his teeth in annoyance. So many hours of his day wasted. He jumps as Claudia kicks open his bedroom door, balancing a tray of food in her hands.

“Hey dad! I was just about to wake you up, I made breakfast no—lunch! For you!” she chirps and places the food tray down on his nightstand. There’s pancakes with jam and fruits, and Hot Brown Morning Potion. His favourites.

“Claudia, you’re an angel.” Viren says, voice still groggy from sleep. He can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, but for a scant few seconds it’s alright as he takes his very first sip of Hot Brown Morning Potion.

“Gotten anywhere with that mirror, dad?” Claudia says, and the headache is back just like that. He sighs wearily, hoping she will take the hint, but she continues to look expectantly at him.

“No.” he says wearily. “Not at all.”

“Aaaw, that’s too bad.” she replies dramatically. “Just say when you want me to go dig up that Mandrake, I’ll make sure to crack that mirror for you! Literally, hahaha!”

“Thank you, Claudia. I appreciate that. Thank you for making me lunch.” he says, smiling softly. She’s precious, he loves her very much.

“You’re welcome, dad.” she replies, kissing his cheek and skipping off to do whatever she does during daytime. He’s never quite sure, but he knows for sure she is tirelessly practicing her magic. She makes his chest swell with pride.

He’s not quite sure what he should do with the accursed mirror now that he knows there’s an elf in there, seemingly trapped in another dimension. Is it a prison, perhaps? He wants to know, but at the same time there’s a small, almost invisible feeling of doubt nagging in his mind. He’s not used to doubting himself in any way. Most certainly not like this when there’s dark magic involved. He’ll need more time to think, this really shouldn’t be rushed. Somewhere at the back of his mind, the last words of the captured assassin elf from earlier echoes.

_‘You have succeeded. You have found something worse than death.’_

The whispers return late the following night. Viren tosses and turns in a fitful yet dreamless sleep. He heaves for air as he wakes with a startle, shivering in the cold night air. When did he open his windows? He freezes in place at the feeling of something tickling his ear, a wind, surely of magical descent.

“Aaravos?” he whispers after listening intently for several long minutes. Could that be—?  
He hastily throws on his robes and marches for the Royal Library, lighting the candles there with sun magic before he scours the shelves, for anything related to the word _‘Aaravos’_.

He’s finally able to locate a book, on ancient Xadian lore, but as he turns the page he sees the word _‘Aaravos’_ and the following text melt away from the page. He drops the book to the floor as if burned, pulling out more books from the shelves. They’re all the same, everything on ‘Aaravos’ is seemingly impossible to decipher because the words on the pages distorts. Viren screams in frustration, digging out more and more books til he has exhausted everything. Cursed elf! Cursed mirror! Maybe Claudia was right, maybe they should just destroy the mirror?  
He retreats to his room, pacing back and forth as he tried to come up with a plan. The coronation would be soon, he had to play his cards right. The elf could potentially be a key to victory in his grand scheme. He’d have to remember that. Yes, there was powerful magic lying just underneath the surface, and Viren would control it all in the end!

The nightmares begin the next night, and continues the following. Viren has lost count of how many times he has woken up drenched in sweat. There's blood, screams, a darkness that envelops and chokes the air out of his lungs. He’s aghast at his own reflection when he wakes up early on the third morning since the nightmares started. His carefully constructed dark magic is patchy, showing of the withering skin beneath, his actual skin. He swallows and concentrates hard, dipping into magic reserves he’s saving for a real crisis. But this is a real crisis! That elf has done something to him! But how!?

He waits till evening before he goes back into the basement, the foggy feeling in his brain becoming stronger with each step he takes. He lights the fireplace with sun magic and pulls the blanket off the mirror. It’s dark like molasses, so he sits down, and waits. The elf, or _Aaravos_ as Viren is convinced is their name, appears after what seems like hours, striding elegantly over the floor and stands in front of the mirror. They smile and taps their ear before lifting the knife to their palm again. Viren mimics the elf, and slashes a long gash straight over his palm, letting the blood trickle down into the goblet. On Aaravos’ side of the mirror the elf opens their mouth, and a _caterpillar_ crawls out and down into the goblet. Viren stares mortified at the scene, then grits his teeth as the caterpillar _emerges_ from the goblet on his side. Aaravos taps their ear again. The caterpillar goes in the ear? Viren feels like puking, but he obediently holds out his hand, letting the caterpillar crawl onto it and then he holds it to his ear. The little creature crawls and settles on top of his ear and Aaravos looks pleased.

“Hello, Viren.” the elf says, voice dark like treacle, low and sensual. They—no— _he_ , is the voice from Viren’s dreams, his feverish hallucinations.

“Aaravos, I presume?” Viren enquiries. Aaravos nods, pleased with himself.

“Yes. It would seem you got my message.” Aaravos continues, the damned smile pulling at his lips. The nerve of this elf!

“Who are you, and what do you want with me?” Viren asks, anger and exasperation seeping into his voice.

“You are the one who’s been calling me, seeking me. You want something from me, and maybe I can actually give it to you.” Aaravos counters, seemingly not bothered at all. “Or maybe I should rephrase that?” he continues.

_“How may I serve you?”_

The elf’s voice sends an unbidden shiver down Viren’s spine. The voice, the phrase, the implications. He grits his teeth. He’s hot under his collar and fatigued from having to keep his illusion up. Aaravos cocks his head to the side.

“Let me see you, Viren.” he says calmly. “Let me see the real you.”

Viren doesn’t take orders, very well anyways. But Aaravos is compelling, for reasons unknown, and Viren lets his disguise fall, showing the elf his pallid skin, zigzagged with purple magic markings and darkened eyes. Aaravos’ eyes narrows and his smile is wicked.

“Beautiful~” he breathes, touching the mirror like he did before. Viren places his hand parallel to Aaravos’, confirming that he can indeed feel the warmth of another being’s skin there.

“They’re after you you know.” Aaravos whispers. “They don’t want you on the throne. They loathe you for what you did, and for what they _think_ you did. Tomorrow they will deny you what you want most, because they believe the king’s sons are still alive. And they are, aren’t they, Viren?” Viren’s silence is enough of an answer for Aaravos.

“You only need to set me free from this prison, and I shall serve you, in any way you command me to.”

Harrow would never have allowed such a creature passage into their kingdom, but Viren isn’t Harrow, and hadn’t it been for Viren, Harrow would have been dead much earlier, possibly years ago.

“What do I need to do?” Viren demands, their hands still connected through the mirror.

“Swallow.”

“Pardon?”

“Swallow the worm.”

There’s something crawling down his chin and over his mouth. Viren steels himself as the caterpillar previously sitting on top of his ear appears in his periphery. It pokes at his lips, trying to seek passage into his mouth. Aaravos smiles sweetly, nodding in encouragement. This was it, Aaravos had promised him vast amounts of power, all he had to do was—swallow.

So he does.

The worm is rubbery, hairy, gross. It stings as it slides down his throat, making him cough and hack. An ominous wind sweeps through the basement, extinguishing the fire and covering the basement in darkness. Viren tries to light the candles with sun magic but his magic only fizzles. His throat is tight and his heart is thundering in his chest as mad whispers caresses his ears. The runes around the mirror glows, a vivid violet before the mirror shatters violently as Viren throws himself on his knees, arms over his head.  
The candles in the basement lights up again and there’s a touch to Viren’s hand. He takes the hand—four fingered hand—offered to him and rises to his feet.

Aaravos couldn’t possibly be of this world. The elf before him is ethereal, star-splashes on amethyst, an aura of magic Viren can’t recognize. He is that powerful. The urge to kneel down on one knee is intense.

“Please, no such thing.” Aaravos says, as if able to read Viren’s mind. “You bound yourself to me to free me of my prison. In return I shall give you unimaginable power. Your every desire, is mine to fulfill.”

The elf’s touch is warm upon his cheek. His own hand seeks out Aaravos’, placing it on top.

“You think your corruption make you undesirable.” Aaravos whispers close to his ear. “But to me, it only adds another layer of beauty.” The elf is moving much like a wraith, he’s there one moment, gone to a different location the next. He’s all around Viren, his magical energy engulfing him from every angle, yet he can breathe, more freely than he ever could.

“Only magic can hold true beauty.” Viren says firmly, trying to follow the elf’s movements.

“That—and the creatures who allow it to consume their whole being.” Aaravos whispers with finality against Viren’s lips.

He should be disgusted with kissing an elf, but the raw excellence of the creature that is Aaravos is something entirely different altogether. Viren wants to be one with this being, fully consumed and devoured. He’s never wanted anything so much in his whole life.  
Aaravos’ hands is all over him, his aura and magical energies coaxing out and intertwining with Viren’s. It’s an intimate gesture that very few know the pleasure of. It’s intense and raw, and addicting. He’s kissing Aaravos with abandon, needing the closeness, craving the magical energies pulsing from his being like a drug.

“Drink from me till you’re sated, Viren.” Aaravos croons between their kisses, shoving him down into his chair. A few of the candles has gone out from the crackling energies in the room, darkness slowly swallowing them up. Viren can only make out Aaravos’ eyes and the stars on his cheekbones at first, but at the rustle of cloth, more stars appear, until Viren can see a full body of constellations. He swallows hard, reaching out to touch them all. His hands find a narrow waist, jutting hip bones, smooth, glowing skin. Aaravos purrs in his ear and Viren gasps as a warm hand slides down into his pants and curls around his cock. He’s not been actively paying attention to how hard he is, but it becomes painfully obvious when Aaravos pumps him slowly.  
He’s out of his pants in a scant few seconds. Aaravos is back to kissing him, tendrils of their magical energies intertwining even harder as the elf sits across his lap and positions himself to sink down onto Viren’s cock. One of the many vast uses of magic—Aaravos’ heat is slick and tight. Viren groans from the sensation. The elf is kissing his neck, fingers raking through his hair as he moves torturously slow, making sure Viren feels everything. He’s on the edge already, the past week suddenly revealing itself as a long session of foreplay. His hands move up into Aaravos’ hair, taking a fistful as he kisses the elf’s collarbones, trying to meet his movements. Aaravos chuckles—an otherworldly sound—before he guides Viren’s hands to his hips and presses their foreheads together.

“I serve to give you power, in turn you serve me your undying devotion.” Aaravos’ words are spoken with finality, and Viren has already sealed their contract. A raspy _‘yes’_ is all he manages, groaning as Aaravos rides him hard and mercilessly. There’s a glorious second when their magic connects fully as if one entity, it’s a vision as brilliant as the star-speckled sky, except it is all right there, in his lap. He comes with a breathy groan against Aaravos’ neck, head light and limbs exhausted. The last image he sees before darkness claims him is a silhouette of a body, covered in starry constellations.

He wakes the following morning with a feeling of utter peace in his chest. A good few minutes pass before the memories trickle in and he abruptly sits up in his bed. Had that actually happened? Or was is just a _very_ vivid dream? He doesn’t get to mull it over before Claudia kicks his bedroom door open again.

“Dad!” She exclaims loudly. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Big day?”

“Your coronation, silly! It’s today!”

Oh right. The coronation. The coronation which they will deny him.

“I’ll notify the kitchen you’re awake. Dress your best today, dad!” Claudia chirps before skipping off again.

He allows himself the luxury of a quick bath before he dresses and heads for the kitchen. It looks like he is by himself and his food has already been set out for him, complete with a lovely note from Claudia.  
He’s only taken his first sip of Hot Brown Morning Potion when he feels it. The raw, pulsing energy, intertwining with ease with his own magic. He looks up to see Aaravos, hood pulled down as he sits down across from Viren.

“Good morning, Viren.” he says smugly. “We have much to discuss.”

It wasn’t a dream, it was very real. The mirror’s mystery had been revealed and unleashed upon the world. Viren returns Aaravos’ smile.

“I believe we do.”

* * *

 

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